For two hours, James has been undeniably fretting over Moira's visit. Part of him wished he could take back the words he whispered to her last night as now in the light of day, with fresh eyes and less wine, he believes inviting a Coombs into his home on purpose was a mistake. The other part is fretting over the idea of company in his house unable to stamp down the Thornton propensity for dinner parties even though he himself hates them.

Should he clean something? Straighten the books on the shelves? Probably. None of these things though, he is actually capable of doing because he is on crutches and exhausted by just getting up and down the stairs. Plus he also feels ridiculous because Moira is coming over for business matters. Not consorting.

But he still changes his t-shirt into a half-decent looking pullover that June had bought him last Christmas. And he sends for the kitchen staff at the main house to bring over food--something simple he'd said. So there was a vinaigrette salad on the counter and a tomato basil penne pasta keeping warm in the oven. As the delicious smell of Italian permeated the house, he started to feel idiotic for the food too.

It's a really good thing Moira finally shows up when she does or he would've lose it. Despite the energy zap, he is getting around better on his crutches. So it doesn't even take him long to grab the door. He takes one final breath before opening it, knowing that what he meant to tell her, he'd never told anyone else. But he it was time, and he hoped that something good would come of it.

He opens the door to allow her in. "Hey," he says. "Um. I didn't know if you'd show up or not."